


Julia of the Windy Smile

by Songstress of Solomon (Azalea542)



Series: Never Seen a Bluer Sky [1]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23024425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Songstress%20of%20Solomon
Summary: Julia's story told from her point of view, especially her relationships with Spike and Vicious.
Relationships: Julia/Spike Spiegel, Julia/Vicious (Cowboy Bebop)
Series: Never Seen a Bluer Sky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654762
Kudos: 6





	1. Love Is a Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> I never quite got into the Spike/Julia thing, especially since Spike/Faye would have been better. So I wrote this story from Julia’s point of view to help me understand and like her better.

**_“Yesterday’s endings are seeds for today’s beginnings.”_ **

**_\--Lew Losoney_ **

****

To begin with, this is not a story about the mafia. It’s a story about a boy and a girl so in love—of course, the boy was part of the mob, so that did cause some problems.

Hell, what was a guy with a name like Spike Spiegel doing in the _Chinese_ mafia anyway?

One night, business was slow. The bait was out, but none the sharks were biting. And as usual, our pimp, Big X, didn’t understand it was not our fault. If he beat us, it increased business, or so was his reasoning. Though I don’t see how a girl all bruised and battered would be more attractive to potential clients.

“I’m doing my best!” I insisted.

“Well then, do better!” Big X shouted, his fist knocking me to the ground.

That’s when I saw him, swooping down from a brownstone staircase, like a black swan coming in for a landing. Vicious, they called him, but to me, he was a hero. He pointed his sword—called a katana—at Big X’s neck.

Big X just looked incredulous. “A sword? Are you kidding?”

“It’s one hundred percent real. And lethal,” Vicious informed him.

“What do you want?”

“Leave the girl alone.” I was sitting on the sidewalk, staring up, wide-eyed.

Big X never was easily intimidated. “She’s my property. I’ll do with her—” He never finished. Vicious ran him through with the sword. He crashed straight to the ground, a look of incredulity frozen on his face.

I sat there with my mouth agape. Vicious came over to me, offering his hand, and pulled me up. “Who _are_ you?” I blurted.

“Vicious.” At my alarmed look and gasp, he hastily added, “It’s just to intimidate losers like him. I won’t hurt you.”

He was still holding me by the hand as we walked. “Why did you rescue me?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t look like the kind of girl who should be knocked around.”

“Where are we going?”

He stopped and looked at me. “Where do you want to go? You’re free now…” He stumbled in his speech, looking for a name.

“Julia,” I told him.

“Julia,” he repeated, smiling. “‘Seashell eyes, windy smile…’”

“What?”

“The Beatles. Their song ‘Julia’.”

We resumed walking, hand in hand. It seemed natural. “No one chooses prostitution for a career,” he said thoughtfully. “You just do it to get by.”

“Yes.”

“So, what do you really want to be?”

“Well…” I blushed and looked down at the ground. “Everybody says I’m a good singer.”

He squeezed my hand. “Then from now on, that’s what you’ll be.”

Vicious was different then. Vicious still had a soul; he still had shades of light amongst the shadows that would one day engulf him.

He took me to a warm and friendly bistro, then we returned to his studio apartment. Frankly, it smelled like bird droppings, and then I heard a squawk-like noise. In the corner sat a huge, black bird. It had a crown of feathers like a cockatoo, but its neck was long and twisted, like that of a heron. It sat on an oversized wooden perch and eyed me warily.

“That’s Poison,” Vicious said. “I found him in a gutter and hand-raised him myself. I still don’t know what he is. A new-fangled genetically engineered bird, perhaps.”

“You named a bird Poison?”

“He’s most like an anhinga,” he continued.

“You don’t like pretty names, do you?”

“No. You’ve got to be tough to survive in this world.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“That’s the image you’ve got to present,” he added. “I like Poison—the bird, not the name—because he’s a black bird.”

“I thought you didn’t know what kind of bird he was.”

“Not breed, _color_! Anyway, he reminds me of the Beatles’ song. You know it?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t know ‘Julia’, you don’t know ‘Blackbird’—they’re from the White Album,” he said to me, as if this were a thing everyone should know. “You want to hold Poison?”

I shook my head.

“Then pet him. Put out your hand.”

Hesitantly, I extended a hand towards the big, black monstrosity. Quicker than the eye, the bird stabbed me with its needle-like beak. Blood ran from my hand. “You

said--!” I blurted.

“Bad bird!” Vicious snapped, shaking a fist. Poison reared back its head, and dropped open its beak.

“I have some bandages in the medicine cabinet,” Vicious told me.

“I guess it’s snippish around strangers,” I said.

“I love that bird,” Vicious confessed. “I don’t love many things. I don’t want anything to ever happen to it.”

I slept with Vicious that night. I felt it was an obligation. He had been my Prince Charming, after all, hadn’t he? Although he was a bit creepy.


	2. Meeting Him

“C’mon, I want you to meet someone,” Vicious said, grabbing my hand. I had just finished rehearsing my musical act at the club.

“Meet someone else? A recording executive?”

He looked sheepish. “No, not that. We’ll go play billiards. You know how to play?”

“Sure.”

“He’ll be there. That’s where he likes to kill time.”

We walked into the billiards hall. A young man looked up from one of the tables. He was wearing a sleek blue suit, and had bushy green-tinted brunet hair. He was the most handsome, most striking man I had ever seen. And he was looking at me like he was in shock. I felt so self-conscious. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I looked down at the floor.

“Spike!” Vicious called. “Come over here. I want you to meet my new girl.”

Spike nodded, and put down his billiards cue. Taking a couple of steps towards us, he stumbled. He picked himself up, and looking embarrassed, joined us at the front of the room. “What’s the matter, Spike?” Vicious teased. “Too much to drink already?”

“Well, you know,” Spike began, quickly recovering his sense of coolness. “It happens sometimes.”

“Spike, this is Julia,” Vicious introduced. “I rescued her from that Big X pimp. Julia, this is Spike, my closest companion.”

Spike extended his hand to me. Nervously, feeling my hand was clammy, I took it. A spark jumped from his hand to mine. Something was going on here.

Dropping his hand, I looked into his eyes. They were mismatched. I was puzzled. “Your eyes...they’re different colors.”

“One eye sees the past, the other the present,” he explained, matter-of-fact and mysterious at the same time.

“Don’t bore her with your eye stories!” Vicious chided. “He’s got this weird idea that they made him get completely naked for eye surgery because the surgeons were kinky.”

It really wasn’t a good time for him to have mentioned his friend being naked. I tried to shoot down lustful thoughts as quickly as they came. With all my years of tapping into my own sexuality to make a living, I had never felt this naturally aroused. I clutched Vicious’ elbow—I was _his_ girl after all; at least, I was supposed to be. He had rescued me. It wouldn’t be nice for me to dump him this fast.

“When did you get back, Spike?” Vicious asked.

“Mao and I got back around noon,” he replied, running a hand through his abundant hair.

Oh, but I wanted him, I did. I bemoaned the fact that it was Vicious who rescued me, and not Spike. How long would I have to be chained to Vicious before I had paid him back for his valor on my behalf?


	3. Abuse

I was lying naked in bed with Vicious when Spike knocked at the door. “Come in,” Vicious called, and I heard the sound of a key turning.

“Vicious, now?” I whispered.

“Relax, he’s family, so to speak.”

Spike came in, his eyes widening. I pulled the sheet up to my neck, cursing its thinness. 

Vicious reassured Spike the same way he had me. Then Spike, looking ill at ease, related a few items related business to him, and slipped out the door, whistling a random tune.

“Next time tell him to call or come back later,” I demanded.

“What’s your problem, baby?” Vicious returned.

“Just don’t do it again,” I said.

He grabbed my chin forcefully. “Don’t tell me what to do or not to do! I don’t _like_ women who think they’re the boss.”

“I don’t think I’m the boss!” I told him through tears, upset at his rough handling of me. “I just don’t want him to see me naked!”

After a pause, he replied, “That’s understandable...I guess.”

It was an isolated incident—or so I hoped. Both the casually letting visitors see us in bed, and his being physically forceful with me. 

I need not have worried about the first.

My head hit the wall, reeling from Vicious’ slap. I had said something. I don’t know what. This was his reply.

Poison squawked from his perch.

“You don’t look like the kind of girl who should be knocked around,” I recalled Vicious saying.

But tense from work, he would take it out on me.


	4. Self-Improvement

Vicious got me an open-ended gig at Club Eleven, singing torch songs of the twentieth century, plus some new numbers in the grand old style as well. I got to wear my hair up and get decked out in sequined gowns. I liked the black one the best.

Vicious didn’t always show up for the concerts. Spike was there more often, and as he lifted a glass to his lips, it was hard not to meet his gaze.

_“My love for you burns deep inside me…”_

“Why don’t you go to Julia’s shows?” I overheard Spike ask Vicious. “She would appreciate having her boyfriend there to croon romantic tunes to.”

“Ah, I saw a few of them. They get to seem all the same after awhile. The playlist doesn’t vary much.”

Vicious joined me at the bar after my set. “I enlisted with the military today,” he announced, staring down into his iced drink.

“What?”

“You know I need to learn to be better. I’m sure you looked real good tonight on stage with that bruised cheek I gave you. I need to straighten out. And where do parents send their kids when they need to be straightened out?”

“The military,” I uttered. I was disturbed. There was a war on Titan going on. Would Vicious get sent there? Would the cruelties of war actually do him good? __  
  


It looked like a scene from a sentimental old Norman Rockwell painting. Spike and I were there to see Vicious off on the bus that would take him to the military base.

Vicious caressed my cheek, accidentally touching my bruise. Wincing, I pulled away. “Sorry, babe,” he apologized—one of the last apologies he would ever give. “When I come back, I’ll be a new man. You’ll see. I won’t hit you anymore.”

“Okay,” I said meekly.

Vicious and Spike gave each other a one-armed hug. “You stick by Julia while I’m gone,” Vicious told him. “Make sure no other guys get to her.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Spike said hesitantly, for reasons I would understand later. He was already in love with me.

“Spike, you’re the only one I trust,” Vicious declared. “Okay?”

Spike nodded. “All right.”

Vicious boarded the bus and it drove away. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Spike repeated.

“Well, Vicious trusts you,” I encouraged.

“No, the idea that the military will make him a better man. Shipping a guy off to a war zone—that just makes him meaner.”

I sighed and looked away. “I hope you’re wrong.”

I turned back to see him, one eye closed, aiming his gun at nothing. “Bang!” he said.

“What’re you doing?” I wondered.

“Just playing cowboy.” He flipped the gun in circles around his finger, like an old time gunslinger.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“You’re making me nervous, twirling that gun around. What if it goes off?”

“It won’t go off.” He holstered the weapon anyway, and turned to me. “You know, I once shot a man just to see him die,” he said dryly.

“Oh, you did not!”

“Okay, maybe not. You want me to walk you home?”

“I guess. We...could go play some billiards first. There’s nothing to do at home and I’m up for a game.”

“Yeah, I’ve got nothin’ to do, either,” Spike said, as he started walking in the direction of the pool hall.

When he talked, it was like a tomcat purring. I always found cats very sexy—for some girls, it’s horses, but to me, when I heard a cat purr or mew or do anything feline, I felt aroused.


	5. Perfect Day

Spike was walking with me in Lincoln Park. A woman wearing a camisole and a very short, tight skirt walked by. “Slut,” Spike muttered under his breath.

I pulled away from him and sat down on a bench, resting my head on my hands and my elbows on my knees.

Spike sat down beside me on the bench. “C’mon, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t like sluts,” I muttered.

“Yeah..?”

I turned my head in his direction, but did not meet his eyes. “In case you forgot, I was a prostitute!”

“But you’re not now.”

“But I was.”

“You were out on the street. Homeless. You did what you had to do to survive. When the opportunity came to get out, you did. Look…” He seemed to be considering his phrasing carefully. “Vicious and me were out on the street once, just kids—homeless—until Mao took us in. I know what it’s like to have nothing.”

“I didn’t want to sleep with all those men,” I said through tears.

“I know.”

“All I really want is one guy, a house, a family.”

Spike shook his head slightly. “No kids.”

This was an odd thing to say, considering we were still just friends...supposedly. “Huh?”

“A man and a woman is enough. Kids are a chore. They’re a nuisance. Besides, why would anybody want to bring another life into this miserable world?”

I looked at him curiously.

“What?” he snapped.

“Spike, you have _issues_ , don’t you?”

He squirmed. “Yeah, I guess.” Hurriedly, he changed the subject. “So to me, you’re not a slut. I was talking about women who give themselves away for free.”

“Okay.” That ended that. “So, what are we doing today? Do you wanna go to the zoo? They’ve got a new petting zoo section where they allow you to feed the animals.”

Spike looked disinterested. “Ahh, animals! I don’t—”

“Spike!” I interrupted. “Are you too cool for everything? You don’t like kids, you don’t like pets…”

“Okay, okay! We’ll go to the zoo!”

At the petting zoo, I shoved a fuzzy, white bunny at Spike. “You want me to hold a bunny?” he asked, as though I had suggested he extinguish the sun or do something scientifically impossible.

“Just do it!” I ordered. I placed it in his hands.

He dropped it.

The rabbit hopped away to the far side of the enclosure.

I glared at him. “I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!” he insisted.

Afterwards, we went to the movies.

“Did you have to bring me to see an ancient kiddie movie?” Spike demanded. “I like bloody martial arts films. This movie, I mean, c’mon, it’s about a deer and a rabbit who talk! What is with you and rabbits?”

“But admit it,” I began, pushing my hands onto his chest. “Weren’t you just a little sad when Bambi’s mother died?”

He took a drag from his cigarette, then shrugged. “Well…”

“You were crying!”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“You were—” I began, pinching his cheek.

“I wasn’t—Julia, listen, I wasn’t!” he insisted with all of his might.

“You sniffled. I heard you sniffle.”

“Maybe I’m catching a cold.”

I smiled knowingly.

“Look, I didn’t cry. I didn’t _sniffle_. If I did anything during that dead deer scene, I shrugged.”

“Uh-huh,” I said doubtfully.

“Look, can we just drop the subject? I mean, why get so high on idea of whether I can cry or not. I can’t. I won’t. End of story.”

“Besides, I think we fell in love just like the creatures did in the film.”

“So I fell in love like a stupid moron who gets ‘twitter pated’ by the sight of the first female of his kind? I’ve seen other females besides you, Julia.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Anyway, Bambi’s mother getting bagged ain’t got nothing on my sad story.”

“You’re so jaded. How’d you get that way? There’s an old song Frank Sinatra did way back in the twentieth century that reminds me of you. It’s called, ‘I Get a Kick out of You.’ Nothing interests of excites this guy. He’s so jaded.”

“Except when he sees this particular girl,” Spike broke in. “Yeah, that may be me. I do get a kick out of you.”

I smiled.

Then he answered my earlier question. “I was born jaded.”

When he walked me back to my door, I pulled him inside. “Julia,” Spike worriedly chided as I loosened his tie. “This isn’t right.”

I looked him in the eyes. “You love me,” I stated firmly.

He hadn’t told me, he had tried to keep it a secret. But I knew it. You can’t hide a thing like that very well for long. “Yeah, okay, but...” he began. “I made a promise to Vicious.”

I put my arms on his shoulders. “I’ve fallen for you, too,” I confessed. “We’re in love and I want to see where this goes. Sometimes that happens—you meet somebody new. Vicious will have to understand.”

“Vicious _won’t_ understand,” Spike said. “Look, you told him you would wait for him.”

Without thinking, the words slipped from my tongue. “Women are all liars. You should know that better than anyone, being so jaded.”

He stared at me.

I blushed. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Let’s just call it a night,” Spike decided, backing towards the door. “See ya tomorrow, okay?” He walked out and closed the door.

I stood still for a moment, then I realized I was clutching Spike’s tie in my hand. A knock sounded at the door. “Julia?” I smiled.

“The door’s still unlocked.”

Spike popped in. “Forgot my tie. What are you looking at me like that for?”

“One kiss.”

“And what?” The tie was now in his hand.

“Then you can go home.”

He was staring hesitantly at me one second, then his lips were upon mine. My temperature rose past the fever point. I couldn’t believe I was actually kissing him. It seemed so right and so taboo at the same time.

I unfastened his shirt, one button at a time. “You said I could go home,” he argued weakly.

“Women are all—”

“Women are all liars. Right,” he said, dropping his jacket and shirt to the floor. “Okay, I give up.”

When we were both undressed, he was hesitant, so I took his hand and guided it in the places I wanted it to go. He seemed somehow innocent—if you could believe anyone affiliated with the Red Dragons could be innocent. I didn’t know what his past romantic or sexual history was, and I didn’t ask. Somehow the notion that he had had others disturbed me, though I myself had a checkered past. I wished I could erase all that. Wished that I could make him my first. Maybe I could make him my last. That would count for something, wouldn’t it? 

Basking in the afterglow, I felt it was the first time I had ever really, _truly_ made love. 

I was hesitant about the question, but I asked anyway.

“Spike, that was your first time, wasn’t it?”

He grunted. “I was that bad, huh?”

“No, it’s not that. Still, I knew...But Spike, tell me one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a virile, drop dead gorgeous young man and you don’t exactly come from a religious background. How is it--?”

“How is it this is my first time?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned on his elbow. “You know that song, ‘You Make Me Cool’?”

“Yeah.”

“They wrote that song about me.”

I sat up, not taking his words literally. He didn’t actually know the songwriters, I’m sure. “You mean, you think you’re too cool for any of the girls who might have wanted you?”

“Yeah. They were losers. Not worth my time.”

I shoved him. “Spike, you think you’re too cool for everything!”

“Not too cool for you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Spike turned to the side of the bed, reaching down to pick up his clothes. When he had put on his slacks, I asked him, “Hey, you aren’t leaving, are you?”

“I can’t stay here all night!” he insisted. “Look, they’re gonna know.”

“Do you really think they’re watching us all the time?”

“Julia, if someone tells—”

“Just—” I struggled for words. “You just don’t do me and leave. That isn’t right.”

He slipped on his undershirt. “Julia, we could both get in a lot of trouble!”

I sighed. “All right. I understand.”

I hadn’t worried so much then about what was wrong and what was right. If it was better to wait, or the idea that just because you realized you loved someone didn’t mean you had to sleep with him. Or that you shouldn’t betray a man—a gangster, nonetheless—that you made promises to. But one thing I knew—whatever mistakes Spike and I made, our love was real. And maybe it could be preserved.


	6. Guinevere and Lancelot While King Arthur Is Away

After that first night at my place, we decided the best way to deal with the possibility of people finding out about our affair was to be casual about it. To not be paranoid. We didn’t advertise it, but we didn’t constantly sneak around in shadows, either. Mao was in on the secret, and Annie as well. Lin perhaps we should have been more careful around. He was Spike’s subordinate, but his worship really went to Vicious. Now his brother Shin was a loyal friend to me until the end.

But don’t think we were always making like rabbits. Sometimes Spike would go for days without hardly even touching me. He was aloof, as though he were just tolerating me tagging along.

“I hate you, Julia,” he once said. “You took my self-control. My independence.”

“You hate me?” I asked cautiously.

He nodded grimly. “Yeah, and you should know it. But I love you more than I hate you.”

I think that was the only time he ever said “I love you”, sandwiching it safely between many other words. 

Those days, before Vicious returned, were like a dream. We laughed, we played. I showed him all he had been missing in life—I’m not just talking sex and romance here. There were sights to see, events to experience, rides to be ridden. I was like Pocahontas showing John Smith the wonders of the world. I took him everywhere—galleries, theme parks, concerts, restaurants, arena sports—yes, the sports were my idea. Spike had considered himself, although a man, too cool for spectator sports. “Where we going today, Julia?” he would ask, and his eyes would light up with a life they hadn’t before. And even on days he had work and couldn’t play tourist with me, I would cheer him up by making faces at him or doing something silly. “I didn’t know a beautiful girl could be so goofy.”

Spike, in turn, taught me self-defense. He taught me how to use a gun. And he taught me the basics of kung fu. Sometimes all that close contact during my martial arts lessons ended up leading back to something else, one of the usual things that lovers do together.

One of our outings was to a fancy but free art gallery. Spike stared quizzically at a piece of abstract art, tilting his head like an owl.

“What?” I asked.

“This piece is worth a billion woolongs. I could do that! Just randomly pour paint on a canvas.”

“C’mon, I know a great American restaurant—”

“What about the gallery café?”

“It sucks. Trust me.”

Later, at the restaurant, Spike had eaten his burgers and fries and was staring at an empty plate. Then he squeezed some ketchup on it, then some mustard. “Voila! Instant art.”

A waiter came by and took the plate. “Hey, don’t wash that!” Spike called out after him. “It’s a masterpiece.”

I giggled. Those were good times.

Another time we went to Space Land. After the Ultra Roller Coaster, I teased him, “Your eyes were wide and your knuckled were white.”

“I WAS—” He lowered his voice and spoke calmly. “I _wasn’t_ scared. But I just don’t understand why people would put themselves through such stress on purpose. There’s enough things for them to be scared about in real life.”

“The roller coaster scared you—”

“I wasn’t scared!”

“But doing a barrel roll in your spaceship is fun.”

“Yeah, it is. It could beat any of the rides in this sucky place.”

“Oh, c’mon, this place is magic!”

“If you like standing in the heat all day, waiting three hours to get on a three minute ride.”

“You’ve got to take me up in your ship sometime.”

“Why?”

“So I can see if a barrel roll is more fun than all the rides in Space Land.” I smiled. “You like to complain about all the places we go to, but I can tell, deep down, you’re actually having fun.”

“Huh,” he said, as if that were a novel concept to him. “Maybe I am.”


	7. More Time Alone

I didn’t like to poke my nose into Spike’s and Vicious’ business as members of the Red Dragons syndicate. I preferred not to think of it at all. Though I was on their payroll, too, for singing at a club they owned.

These are the things I knew—the syndicate was into extortion, drug deals, and bootlegging. I didn’t think there was a lot of murder—at least I didn’t want to think that. Spike and Vicious told me they had been in firefights. Things must have gotten pretty violent for Spike to have lost his eye.

One day, at my place, Spike and I were lying on the floor, dressed in our workout clothes, trying to catch our breath. We just lay there like that for a few minutes, then I asked, totally irrelevant to anything that had been going on, “Spike? I know you have to use a gun sometimes, but you don’t kill people in cold blood, do you?”

“I don’t kills for thrills,” he replied. “But sometimes you have to shoot them before they shoot you.”

“Oh,” I said warily. “Self defense.”

He laid a hand lightly on my hand. “I don’t consider myself a murderer.”

“Why are you in this business? You’re not even interested in getting rich quick, so why muscle people for money?”

“I’m owned by the Red Dragons. Mao took me and Vicious in when we were starving on the streets. He did us half a favor. Now I can’t leave, and neither can you.”

“Mao likes you,” I said slowly, thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t he understand it if you wanted to leave?”

“He might, but those three old coots who run the show wouldn’t.”

I should’ve have realized Spike was gentler than the others. Like the time I had been with him when he had to collect some money from an independent business owner under the syndicate’s “protection”—actually, we _did_ protect those people; it’s just that they didn’t ask us to in the first place. The man insisted he was low on funds. Times were tough. Spike, without permission, brusquely searched the premises for money. But when he saw the guy was telling the truth, he said reasonably, “Okay, I believe you. But try to have it next time. Even if you have to have a bake sale.”

It’s not that, with my past, I had any right to judge Spike. But for some reason, I just wanted him to be innocent. Even though, when I acted out on my lust for him, I was the one who caused him to fall from grace. But there was no getting around it. Spike was the proverbial Bad Boy. At least he wasn’t evil. At least he was better than most of the people he worked with. At least.

We were sitting at my table, nursing cigarettes and cups of coffee. I was gazing at the newspaper, remarking on the list of the top ten moneymakers in the solar system. “Imagine what we could do with all that money.”

Spike waved the notion aside. “No big deal. I don’t collect much of anything. I don’t wear lots of gold and silver.”

“Are you saying you don’t care much for money?”

He shrugged and smirked.

“Well, then, why are you in the business you’re in, Mister?”

“Just where I found myself.”

“That’s it. We’re getting out of this someday for certain.”

He wanted to change the subject. “Money is overrated. You know another thing that’s overrated? Sex.”

I slammed my fists down on the table, rattling the coffee cups and spilling some of the beverage on the table. “What?!”

He looked at me quizzically. “What are you so uptight about?”

“Oh, you’re so sensitive!” I cried sarcastically. “I’m the only one you ever had—if you’re judging sex by that, you’re also judging me!”

“I’m not—”

“In case you forgot, you seemed to be enjoying yourself last night!”

“Well, sure, but I’m just talking about the concept, not you personally.”

I smirked with self-satisfaction at him. “Let’s see you dig yourself out of this one.”

“Am I gonna have to buy you something?”

“No. Let’s see...you think you’re too cool for sex or money. That’s why you’re saying they’re overrated.”

“Haven’t we had this conversation before? Look, would you rather I was a greedy pervert?”

“No, it’s just that...well, you’re so detached from everything! Sometimes I don’t think you’re even alive!”

“You’re alive,” he said simply.

I blinked in confusion. “Hunh?”

“You’re more alive than anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe you can do the living for both of us.”

From a park bench, Spike and I watched brightly dressed families exit a cathedral on Sunday morning. Children’s laughter echoed. “Do you suppose they live better lives than us?” I wondered.

Spike lifted a cigarette from his lips. “What do you mean—morally? Or that they’re happier?”

“I don’t know. Do you believe in God, Spike?”

Not wanting to commit to an answer, he grunted and looked up at the sky.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I pressed. “Really, Spike, I’m serious.”

He was silent for a moment, then launched into a story. “My father was Jewish and my mother was Catholic. I got conflicting views. Both were devout, good people in a way. I lost them pretty early on. I haven’t had any religious instruction since.”

“Yeah, but do you believe in God?”

“I guess so. Not sure He believes in me.”

I looked at him.

“What would he want to do with me?” Spike tried to explain. “A street kid turned gangster?”

“You’re getting nicer everyday,” I returned. “Maybe that’s His involvement.”

“Or maybe it’s yours. I think you’re the one who gave me a conscience.”

I smiled. “That’s sweet, Spike. But you had one before me, I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not so sure. Do you believe in God?”

Turnabout is fair play, I suppose. “I do,” I said carefully. “But I’m too afraid of Him, like I’ve sinned too much and crossed some barrier where I can’t be forgiven.”

Spike folded his hands behind his head. “Yeah...that’s how I feel.”

“Then have we damned ourselves, Spike? Have we no future when we die?”

He slumped down in his seat. “Maybe we’re going to Hell. Or maybe we’re in Hell already.” I met his gaze. His eyes stared back, sad and lifeless.

I decided our outing next week would be actually checking out the house of worship. And thus began the adventures of Spike in Church…

I wore a modest black dress he had brought me back from Tijuana. It had black lace down the sides and a peacock embroidered on front.

Spike was in his blue suit. “Seeing you in that dress alone is worth the price of admission.”

“Spike, silly, they don’t charge admission to church!”

“Then why do they pass those little metal plates around for?”

“Those are called tithes and offerings.”

“So, I’m not required to tip anything?”

“No, no, you’re not required to ‘tip’!”

We sat in a pew near the back. A nice old lady greeted us, and a middle-aged man nodded at us approvingly. “The stained glass windows sure are pretty,” I remarked to my companion.

“Uh-huh,” Spike said simply.

The service started, and I tried to sing along with hymns I did not know. Spike just stood there with the hymnal open, but not opening his mouth. Not being a hypocrite, I suppose.

Problems arose during the sermon, which was long and boring. Spike yawned—quite loudly—and stretched—quite widely. I jabbed him in the ribs. “Ow!” Then he started rhythmically kicking the bottom of the pew in front of us—and there were people in it! They glared back at us. “Oops, sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Spike muttered. I shook my head and felt my face turn red.

The preacher said something loud and emphatically. “Though Christ alone is salvation.” Spike raised his hand as if to ask a question. He kept it up for several minutes, it seemed. Finally, I whispered in his ear, “It’s not a question and answer session.”

“But how am I--?”

“Ask him after the service!”

Finally, the meeting ended. We got to greet the minister at the door. “What was that question you had?” he wondered.

Spike looked blank. “I forgot. Look, I’m sorry, I’m out of my element here.”

“Well, we’ll welcome you back. Give it a chance to make it your element.”

“Will do,” Spike said, and we walked out the door.

Alas, we never went back.


	8. Vicious Returns

I spoke with Vicious seldom during his time on Titan. It was so far away, both the audio and visual calls were marred by interference. I always came away from those calls feeling disturbed. Vicious never looked at the bright side of things.

The last time he called was the worst. Not only his sour demeanor troubled me this time, but the fact that I had cheated on him.

“Do you have any friends there?” I asked, to make conversation.

“Dead for the most part. I don’t even bother anymore. What’s the point? They’re just gonna die. Human life has no value here, Julia. Hell, human life has no value anywhere. What’s the difference if you kill a guy? He’ll just die sooner instead of later.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

He stared a moment before replying. His eyes were cold and bitter. “I think I do. I don’t even remember what I’m fighting for; what the other side is fighting for. There’s nothing to believe in. I just know I kill them before they kill me.”

I looked down at my lap. “I…I can’t believe that,” I mumbled hesitantly.

“People are all murderers. If they’re not, then they’re all liars. Everyone’s a liar.”

We were both silent for a tense minute, then he changed the subject. “Spike taking care of you?”

_Keep it simple._ “Yes.”

“He ain’t come on to you now?”

I feigned shock. “No, of course not!” I really didn’t lie—it was I who made the first move, after all.

Vicious gave a slight nod. “Good. Because you’re all I have left.”

“What about--?” I began

He held up a hand. “Good night, Julia. It is night there now.”

“Yes, it is.” I wondered why he had said that last sentence.

He ended the transmission without another word.

Another time, Spike and I were at a sports grill, dining on BBQ ribs. Television sets were playing all around. One was a constant news channel, and suddenly, they did a report on the war on Titan. Were soldiers getting disgruntled and disillusioned? They panned over a group of miserable soldiers sitting in a trench. “Hey, that’s Vicious!” I pointed out, my mouth full.

“Well, what do you know, Vicious is a TV star now,” Spike remarked, tongue-in-cheek. “I bet he won’t even have time for us now.”

Vicious looked right at the camera—and it felt as if he looked right through me. I shuddered. His eyes weren’t just those of a victim—they were the eyes of the one who made others his victims.

These two incidents had me scared, although in the latter you could say he couldn’t have possibly been looking at me. But I felt as though Vicious already had things all figured out about Spike and I.

The war on Titan was not over when Vicious came home. Frankly, he gave us no word that he was coming. Spike and I were walking back to my apartment, unconsciously having slipped our hands together; we were laughing and relishing each other’s company. I felt electricity. I could tell, tonight he would not give me his attitude of being above making love. 

Suddenly, we stopped. There, at the top of the short flight of stairs in front of the apartment building, stood Vicious, smiling at us sinisterly. We didn’t have time to measure our reactions. We were startled before we could pretend not to be startled. And we knew. We knew that he knew that Spike and I had become more than friends.

I sat at the bar after my gig at the Birdland Grill. “Give me a stiff one,” I ordered. “Something for when you’ve got to get up the nerve to confront someone.”

“Vicious?” John, the barkeeper, asked.

“Yeah.”

“Better make it a double.”

So I took John’s advice, and by the time I finished drinking, I felt easier about facing Vicious. He wasn’t evil, after all—he could be reasoned with. So I thought.

I stood up on shaky legs, and someone reached his hands out to steady me. It was Spike. “I’m going with you,” he announced.

“No, Spike, I can do this.”

“I’m going,” he stated firmly. “I don’t trust Vicious anymore.”

“Okay, fine,” I muttered. “I’ve got my gun—I can always shoot him if things go wrong.”

“Don’t joke like that,” he advised, taking my arm and escorting me to the door. “It may come to that one day.”

I knocked at Vicious’ door, Spike standing beside me. No answer. I knocked again. “Maybe he went out.”

“No, he’s there,” Spike said, sure of his words. “He’s just sulking.” He retrieved his keys from his pocket, calling out in a loud voice, “Vicious, we’re coming in.”

No sound from Vicious, but I heard Poison squawk and ruffle his feathers.

Spike opened the door, protectively pushing me behind him so that he could enter first.

The room was dimly lit by candlelight. Between the sconces, Vicious sat, palms upraised, striking a meditative pose.

“Stop pretending you don’t know we’re here,” Spike said tiredly.

Eyes still closed, Vicious smiled. I never took a smile from him as a good sign anymore.

Spike sighed. “Look, we have some matters to settle. Let’s just get them out in the open.”

Opening his eyes finally, Vicious stood. “You stole my woman. What is there to settle?”

“What are you—some little brat?” Spike demanded testily. “Sure, it hurts, and we’re sorry it hurts, but be a man about this, will ya?”

Vicious pointed an accusing finger at Spike. “You never fucked a woman before in your life, why start with mine?”

“Vicious, I _love_ her!” Spike proclaimed. “We love each other.”

Vicious’ lips curled up at one end, somewhere between a smile and a sneer. “I thought Julia loved me. She said so.”

Maybe it was the liquor talking. “Women are all liars.”

They both glared at me for a second.

“Look, we’re not doing this to spite you!” Spike insisted, turning back to Vicious. “You know, if you really loved her, you would put her wants and needs above your own, instead of making her life a living hell.”

But to Vicious, bowing out gracefully was an alien custom. “Hell? I’ll send you to Hell, brother.” He drew his sword.

I fell to my knees in front of Vicious. “Please, Vicious, stop this! Just leave us alone! Let us be! Please!”

He put the heel of his boot on my forehead and kicked me backwards. “You look pathetic begging.”

“Just what do you hope to accomplish by this?” Spike tried reasoning. “Would us being dead really make it better?”

They glared at each other. Then Vicious lowered his sword. “Go your way. Do what you want, but not in public. I don’t want to see you flaunting your little romance for everyone to see.”

Spike pulled me to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Vicious turned away, then whirled around, facing Spike. “Spike?”

“What?” Spike demanded, sounding irritated.

“Never trust that woman. She jilted me; she’ll do the same to you in the end.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Thanks for the advice, compadre.”

I didn’t care what Spike had said. There had to be some part of Vicious’ consciousness or conscience which could be reasoned with. I considered going alone to his apartment, but felt sick with anxiety. So I left a message on his answering machine for him to meet me at Lincoln Park.

I sat on a bench near the duck pond. An anhinga was perched on a rock, spreading its wings to dry itself. “That one looks like Poison,” Vicious said, from behind me. He hurled a small rock at the bird. It barely grazed the bottom of its left wing, fortunately. The anhinga made a guttural noise and flew across the pond.

“Vicious, that was cruel!” I chided.

He sat down beside me. “What do you expect from a man named Vicious?”

I studied his face. In his eyes, I could see nothing but hatred. Burning hatred. That was the only emotion he had left for me. I looked away. “It used to be that name was just a front to intimidate people,” I reminded him. “It didn’t fit every part of you.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to live up to my name,” he said, smiling thinly.

“But why? It has to be about more than just me and Spike—”

He stung my face with the slap of his hand. “I don’t _ever_ want to hear about you and Spike _again_ ,” he informed me through gritted teeth. “Understood?”

I nodded. “Understood. Was it the war? Is that what made you this way?”

He stared silently ahead, as if waiting for the anhinga to come back so he could take a second shot at it. 

“You used to seem to have a code of honor,” I mentioned.

“From now on, my code’s the reverse,” Vicious said. “The reverse of what everyone’s been taught. Good is evil and evil is good. Instead of ‘thou shalt not steal’, it’s thou shalt steal. Instead of ‘thou shalt not kill’, it’s thou shalt kill. Understand?”

“Vicious, I still care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” he growled.

“Yes, I do,” I stated emphatically. “You need help. Get counseling or treatment or somebody to talk things over with...”

Those icy eyes bore into me with a venomous glare. His hand flew up, and his fingernails dug into my neck. I tried to speak; I couldn’t get any words out.

“Don’t make me shoot you right here.” It was Spike’s voice. He was leveling his pistol at Vicious’ earlobe. Vicious reluctantly released my throat. “I’d hate to ruin these nice folks’ Sunday picnic.” I looked around to see a small crowd of parents and kids, staring wide-eyed at us. “But they saw you choking her, so they know anything I do is in defense of this lady.”

I jumped up from the bench and stood behind Spike, clutching his shoulder. “Spike!”

“I warned you not to talk to him, Julia,” Spike chided.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I overheard you talking on the phone.”

Vicious stood up and took a few steps down the path.

“Where are you going?” Spike demanded, still aiming his gun at him.

Vicious held up his hands in an exaggerated, placating manner. “Hey, I’m not choking her anymore. I’m not exhibiting any aggression towards you. It won’t be self-defense anymore if you shoot me, so I’m leaving.”


	9. New Plans

I was in my bedroom, looking in the mirror—I could see Spike standing behind me.

“Julia…” Spike seemed unsure of himself, not at all cocky and cool as he liked to be. “I have something I’d like to run by you. A pro-a proposition. Some idea I have.”

I smirked. “Yeah, what?”

“I want us...somehow...to have a life together. Maybe someday this whole issue with Vicious will be gone.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a wild dream, though. And we’re really not asking that much.”

“Will you be my wife?”

“Yes.”

“You will?”

I smiled as warmly as I could. “Of course.” I walked to him; held him in my arms.

“I don’t have a ring,” he said quietly.

“That’s okay,” I assured him.

“I didn’t want to attract a lot of attention, hanging out at jewelry shops,” he explained. “It’s not that I’m cheap.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’ll get rings someday. We’ll officially be a couple in God’s eyes, and everyone will have to honor that.”

“Except if they’re serving the devil,” Spike muttered.

“Don’t ruin the moment.” I turned and sighed. “I’d like to go away together. Start all over. Be like those people we saw outside church.”

“They’ll kill us,” Spike stated glumly. “It’s as simple as that.”

“There must be some way we can change our lives! I’m glad I’m no longer a prostitute—and I wish you weren’t a gangster. We’ll find a way,” I stated, afterglow making me feel positive. “If we love each other enough, we’ll make it happen.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Spike said, buttoning up his shirt. “Unfortunately, this is the real world. We’re not characters in a fairy tale, Julia.”

“I know that!” I snapped, finally getting irritated at his downbeat attitude.

I was startled awake when Spike himself was startled from his sleep. He was sitting up in bed, sweating. “What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“I want to marry you, Julia.” He sounded as if he were growling.

I blinked at him.

“It won’t be all that different from now,” Spike assured himself. “It’ll just be ‘official’, like you said.”

“I won’t enslave you,” I promised. “With nothing more to hide, we’ll be freer than ever.”

“As long as we don’t have kids,” he said worriedly. “Once we get married, you’re not gonna trick me into getting you pregnant, are you?”

I hit him with a pillow. “No, silly!”

“You really don’t mind? Not having kids?”  
I shrugged. “I’ve thought about it sometimes, but I’m not one of those women who are obsessed with producing offspring. Besides, children need better parents than we’d be. So just go back to sleep.”


	10. The Attack

Spike and I were in bed. We didn’t expect the door to be kicked open—knocked right off its hinges. It was Vicious, and two henchmen. Vicious smiled, grabbing Spike by the shoulders. “The time for payback has come.”

“Whatever you want to take out on him, take out on me instead!” I pleaded in a shout.

He smiled coldly. “But my dearest, I was planning on doing that anyway. Silly girl.” He stepped closer. “I like it when you tremble. It turns me on.”

Only several minutes after Vicious and his men had left could I bring myself to move from my seat on the floor, near the bed. I ached; I felt nauseous. I picked up a white sheet lying crumpled on the floor and wrapped it around myself... It was instantly stained with blood.

I stumbled over to the bed, where Spike lay unmoving. I pulled a blanket up to his waist. Suddenly, he clutched my arm. I looked at his face, but he was staring with one eye towards the ceiling. The other socket lay ugly and empty. The eye had been plucked out by that bird, that creature that Vicious carried with him.

Still staring, he spoke at last. “Did he hurt you?”

“I—” I began, but could not continue. Weeping would start if I did.

He turned over to look at me, and noticed the stained sheet. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s...it’s nothing.”

He lifted the sheets a little to examine my legs, and grimly noted my thighs were bruised. “He raped you,” he said through clenched teeth.

I sobbed. I bent over on the floor and wept bitterly.

Spike sat down by me on the floor.

“You really should see a doctor,” I advised when I had regained my composure.

“I will. They’ll give me another replacement eye. It’s no big deal,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but shuddering with memories of his first surgery. But he felt worse for me. He had heard tales—how women who are raped are never happy again. Perhaps Vicious had stolen my joy and my peace of mind for the rest of my life. “You realize...now,” he began slowly. “I have to kill him.” Rage filled him so completely that his body trembled like that of a dog shivering in the cold, and water escaped in streams from his one eye.

I covered my face with my hands. “No!” I shrieked. “Don’t! I knew you would say that.”

“Then you know why I say that,” he spoke earnestly. “Julia—the man who rescued you from the streets and gave you a career as a singer—he’s already dead. Dead, buried, rotted away.”

“I can’t forget who he was,” I told him through tears. “Even with what he did to me tonight. I can’t forget.” He used to be quiet, even shy, when dealing with me, at least.

“What he did to us tonight just proves to me the old person is gone. Up to now, like you, I had hoped the one we both loved would come back. That was just a stupid dream.”

“You don’t have to kill him,” I insisted, all the while knowing it was futile to reason with him when he got in what I deemed his “avenger mode”.

“Believe me, I’ll be doing him a favor by killing him. There is a devil, Julia. I know it now. Because Vicious signed away his soul to him.” He put an arm around my shoulder. “I wonder what the devil gave him in return.”

Distracted by my past trauma, I nearly ran a red light, and had to screech my car to a halt.

Vicious had continued to taunt us, threaten us, but he didn’t rape and mutilate us again. He was just “biding his time”, Spike said. It was all I could do to make Spike bide _his_ time, and not kill Vicious. “He didn’t kill us. He could’ve killed us,” I would argue. I wanted to believe that Vicious had become evil against his will, as ridiculous an idea as that was. Like maybe the devil took control of his mind. 

“He’s a cat, Julia. And we’re his mice. He’s playing with us. Trying to prolong our suffering.”

I didn’t want Spike to kill Vicious for another reason—I didn’t like the idea of Spike being a murderer, even if he did it for me. I was no saint, and had always known Spike wasn’t either, but he had never been a cold-blooded killer. Well, maybe cold-blooded wasn’t the right word. He just might get away with slaying Vicious. A frontier mentality existed throughout the newly settled solar system. Sometimes the courts said it was okay to kill a man if he really “deserved to be killed”.

“Please don’t kill Vicious,’ I pleaded, straddling his leg with my leather pants as he sat on the hard chair in the kitchen.

He put an arm around my waist, but his demeanor remained cold. His new eye shone with barely contained rage.

“Don’t start an endless cycle of revenge,” I continued.

“How’s it gonna be endless if I kill him?” he muttered. “Is he going to harass me from beyond the grave?”

“I just…I just don’t want you to become like him.”

“I can never forgive him now. Not after he raped you. Sure, I betrayed him by stealing you—but sometimes people just fall in love and it can’t be helped.”

“I think I’m doing very well considering I’m a rape victim,” I stated firmly. Then I smiled, as big a smile as I could.

“You’re smile is forced,” Spike told me solemnly.

I frowned. That came naturally.

“Julia, you’re a remarkable woman, but...” He sighed. “..Vicious stole something from you that night. There’s always a sadness about you, and a little of the life is gone from your eyes.”

“The life’s not all gone, mister.” I tried not to think of the rape—I wasn’t going to be one of those women who were depressed for life! But at odd moments throughout my days, it would enter my mind. My flesh would crawl, and I would shudder. I tried to lock those thoughts out as quickly as possible.

“No. He’ll never take it all away. I’ll make sure of that.” I whirled around to face him. “Don’t kill Vicious because he raped me,” I pleaded once more. “When I was on the streets, I had to let lots of men...touch me that I didn’t want to be touched by. And I’ve slept with Vicious before.” I shuddered involuntarily. One more time, for old time’s sake, he had said. “Why is this any different?”

“It is, and you know it.”

I did know it. I had to deal with depression and anxiety that hadn’t been there before the incident. I had not been able to share physical intimacy with Spike again yet, being sensitive and shy about sex now, but he had been understanding and patient.

“Spike, you said he made a deal with the devil. Don’t you do the same.”

“No, I won’t do that,” he promised. “I’m a better person for just having known you.”

He rarely got mushy, so I liked it when he did. I kissed him.

“But killing a devil isn’t making a deal with the devil,” he said, ruining the moment. “It’s doing God’s work, if anything.”

“Killing Vicious won’t make the life return to my eyes!” I snapped.

“Then maybe this is about more than you,” he said sullenly.

I sighed. “Spike, I’ve loved you because I always thought there was something different about you. Different from those you worked with. Something good, something noble. Now you’re acting like just another hood!”

His eyes gleamed with anger. “Julia, if Vicious isn’t killed, neither of us are ever gonna have a chance for a safe and happy life! Don’t you hate him for what he’s done to you?”

I lowered my head. “It’s all I can do to keep from hating him.” I looked back up, catching Spike’s gaze. “But why is it, with you two, that violence is the answer for everything?”

“He’s beyond the stage of reasoning now, you know that! Only a bullet through his head is going to convince him to stop—”

I slapped his face. “You’re just as bad as he is!” I shouted, putting my hands on his shoulders and shoving. “C’mon, get out of my apartment, you bastard! Now!”

He let me push him out the door. Turning back, he said quietly, “I understand, Julia.” Then he walked away.

“I don’t think you do,” I muttered to myself.

Then Spike had faked his death, nearly getting himself killed for real in the process. I had harbored him, and been ready to go with him when it was time for our escape. But as days went on, I sensed Vicious knew what was going on, and began having doubts about our fleeing. Surely Vicious would find us, wherever we may have gone. Flight might provoke an attack.

One fateful day, right before the escape Spike and I had planned (“It will be like watching a dream”, Spike had said, using my own terminology), Vicious gave me the ultimatum—I must kill Spike, or he would kill both of us. For what I imagined was for Spike’s own safety, I refused to meet them at our rendezvous, instead escaping into the night to flee on my own.

I bailed out on Spike. Left him wondering why I hadn’t come, where I had gone, and if it was anything he had done that had driven me away.


	11. Life on the Run

I was sitting at the bar at the Blue Crow on Callisto, keeping watch on the male clientele out of the corner of my eye. They were keeping a safe distance, but I could feel their stares. Most of them were pretty ugly. What was I doing here?

Soon, they were doing more than sitting there, but circling near. “You know, not many chicks come to Callisto,” one said, with menace in his tone.

“I don’t want any trouble with you,” I said, and tried turning back to my drink.

“C’mon, lady, all we want is to give you a real friendly Callisto welcome,” another said.

“My boyfriend taught me how to defend myself,” I said, looking over their heads to a few men who were watching on, but not joining in with the others’ aggression. “He taught me how to do some damage.”

“Oh, and where is he now?”

“Went away somewhere.”

“Hey, listen, don’t make no trouble for the lady,” the barkeep advised. “It’s guys like you who keep women away from this world, depriving the rest of us.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

The men were obviously friendly with the barkeep, because they returned to their seats. After awhile, I became aware of another man staring at me. I glanced his way. He had rather longish hair, and actually looked gentle and handsome. Still, I wasn’t going to let my guard down. He smiled at me. I turned my head.

And sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“People say ‘God bless you’ when you sneeze because they used to think you’d shoot out your soul when you sneezed. Saying ‘bless you’ got your soul back. Did you know that?”

“No. Someone must have forgotten to bless me earlier, because I feel like I’ve only got half a soul left.”

“Better than none. I’m Gren.”

“What do you want, Gren?”

“You need a bodyguard.”

“Why can I trust you?”

“I’m gay. Not interested in getting my hands on any women. Helps living here.”

“So how much are you charging for this bodyguard service?”

He shrugged. “It’s a free service. I’m just trying to be friendly. Us sisters got to look out for each other, right?”

I chuckled and smiled. “Are you tough enough to take on those guys?”

“Hey, I was in the military for three years.”

“You?”

“Hey, don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Thus began our friendship.

As we stood at the door of my apartment, he looked sheepish. “All this time, I didn’t get your name.”

“It’s Julia.”

“Julia, really?” He looked amazed. 

“You know someone else named Julia?”

He raised his hands to the hair above each of my shoulders, and ran his fingers through them. “Yeah, you’re her.”

I backed away. “I thought you were gay, mister.”

He hurriedly withdrew his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I served with…” He was hesitant to even say the name. “…Vicious.”

I gasped.

He flashed me a lopsided smile. “It’s a small solar system, isn’t it?”

We went inside and I sat down on his couch.

“Who are you running away from? I mean, besides Vicious,” he asked, in his intuitive and bitingly perceptive way. “Who are you trying to forget?”

“I’m not trying to forget him,” I insisted. “I hope to be with him again someday.”

“But you’re still running away.”

I sighed. “I have no choice. It’s safer for us not be together for now.”

He leaned forward. “I want to know more about him, sister.”

“Oh, all right,” I said, with reluctance, wondering how to begin describing Spike.

I stayed on Callisto awhile, palling around with Gren, until one day I thought I saw a Red Dragon out on the street. Gren and I said our tearful farewells, and then I escaped to the asteroid colony Tijuana. I did a short stint as a bounty hunter—it was easy to sign up to be one, and it was better than becoming a prostitute again.

Fatty River lived up to his name—he was morbidly obese. And while most overweight people that I have known are self-conscious about it, and want to lose weight, Fatty did not care in the slightest, and throwing caution to the wind, made every meal an orgy of food.

I met him while at a police station, after having cashed in a bounty. “So, you’re the girlie who beat me to McQuaid,” he said.

“Guess so.”

“I think you owe me lunch.”

“Don’t think so.”

“This is the second time in a row someone beat me to a bounty. Damn that Spiegel kid.”

I looked up. “Spiegel? You don’t mean Spike Spiegel, do you?”

“I think you were going to buy me lunch?”

I bought Fatty cheese sticks, breaded jalapeños, and potato bites, plus a double decker cheeseburger, a single cheeseburger, a breaded chicken sandwich, a grilled chicken sandwich, chicken tenders, four servings of fries, one serving of onion rings, and a jumbo chocolate milkshake.

Over the meal, he told me how Spike worked as a bounty hunter. It seemed our lives were intertwined even now.

“Yeah, he’s been partners with Jet a few years now. Now he’s got a new partner—some slinky young thing named Faye Valentine.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Are they...they’re not lovers, are they?”

“Handsome young buck and buxom young beauty living together on the same ship and endangering their lives together…you tell me.”

“No, please, I need to know.”

He sighed. “Actually, if they are lovers, that’s privileged information between the two of them. Why, you had something going with him, little lady?”

I smiled close-mouthed. “That’s privileged information between the two of us.” I stood up. “I better leave before all my reward money goes to your dessert.”

I was never an all-out bounty hunter, though. I didn’t even have my own ship. I chose easy prey when it was convenient, or when I was hard up for cash. I stayed away from the more dangerous types, like terrorists and serial killers. Spike could take them down, but I didn’t think I could.

I also heard Vicious was still alive, and still with the Red Dragons. It had been years—maybe Spike really had put the idea of killing Vicious behind him. I couldn’t find out too much—I heard Spike and Vicious had confronted each other on at least one occasion, and Vicious had thrown Spike out of a high window, but Spike had recovered. Ah, Spike—always an inch away from death. I wished I could have been there to nurse him back to health. I wondered if he, too, had wished I were there.

Did he miss me? Did he think of me? Or had he put me behind him, and taken to rolling around in bed with that Faye Valentine woman?

Faye Valentine—what kind of name was that? Valentine? It conjured up images of some slut in red lingerie and fishnet stockings with garters. She just might be the one to kick his languid libido up a notch, and sex with her would be something fun, not a task, like he made it seem with me. But I had no right to judge. Still I prayed she had not stolen Spike from me.


	12. Rahab

I was at a fast food restaurant on Venus. It was so crowded there were no empty tables. A kindly old man invited me over, and engaged me in conversation. I found myself blabbing out a lot of things I shouldn’t have about my sorry life, but he was just a harmless old man, so no danger done.

"Why don’t you come live with me?” the old man asked. “You can be my maid.”

“Well, I don’t know…” I said, leery.

He winked. “Don’t worry, Miss, I’m too old to be interested in ‘you know what’ anymore.”

I smiled. “I’ve known plenty of men your age who haven’t given up yet.” But I needed a place to stay. “What’s your name?”

“Joshua Jenkins. And Caleb’s at home—he’s my basset hound. Old thing.”

“I’m Julia Spire. Don’t you need my references? I could’ve been a prostitute, for all you know.”

“Well, if you were a prostitute, I’d call you Rahab.”

“Rahab?”

“She was the prostitute in the Bible who helped some spies escape back to the Israelites. In turn, she was redeemed.”

“Sounds nice. I’d like to be redeemed.”

So I cleaned house for him, and made him meals, and we’d sit around the kitchen table and talk. He’d tell me of his philosophies and religion, and I’d tell him funny stories—not too earthy, though. So the days passed by—tamely but happily. Maybe this was what it was like to have a normal life.

“I’ve known many men in my life,” I said, over a nursed cup of coffee. “But he was _it_. My one true love of my life.”

“Then you must return to him,” Joshua advised.

“But he’s not a Christian. I thought you said—”

“You must at least tell him why you left, that it wasn’t to hurt him. I had a gal leave me—she wouldn’t tell me why for years. Finally, we spoke again—she told me her parents forced her. And all along, I thought it was something wrong that I did. You don’t want him to feel that way.”

“No. No, I don’t.” 

Then one day, I came in from grocery shopping, to discover Joshua with his head down on the table, shot to death. I didn’t think it was suicide—he didn’t believe in it. It must have been the Red Dragons had found me out. 

Panicking, I searched for Caleb, and found him hiding under Joshua’s bed. I eased him out. I wasn’t going to let the dog die, too. I opened the car door. “Come, Caleb!” I called, hoping the lazy dog would not disobey.

He seemed to understand the situation and leaped into the car.

I couldn’t keep him, I realized as I sped away. As though by Providence’s decree, I came across a nice, middle-aged couple, as normal as could be, unlike most of the people I ran into. They said they would take him in, and I suppose he’s still living with them today.


	13. Back Together Again

“Is this Spike your true love?” I remembered Joshua asking.

“Yes.”

“Then you should be together.”

I regretted that now, running out on Spike. It was time I took a stand. I returned to Tharsis.

Pursued by members of the Red Dragons, I was rescued by, of all people, Faye Valentine. I couldn’t tell just from talking what Faye’s relationship was to Spike, but I asked her where the local bounty hunters were. I gave her a message to pass on to him. 

Faye didn’t fail me.

I was reunited with Spike at the cemetery.

Spike never held me all this time that I was clutching him. I wondered if he was afraid of being seen in public, or had he lost some of his feelings for me?

“Let’s go,” he said simply, and pulled away. It was raining harder. “Is your car nearby?”

“Yes. Everything I need is in the trunk. I’m used to living with the basics now that I’m on the run.”

“Good,” he said, not turning around.

“You don’t even know where you’re going!” I protested, running up to him and catching him by the elbow. “My car is _that_ way!”

He smiled slightly at this, and allowed me to lead the way.

We got in the car. I turned to him before turning the ignition. “Spike?”

He was looking at the floor. There was nothing of interest down there.

I tried again. “Spike!”

“Yeah?” He sounded reluctant to respond.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What’s it matter now?” He was still gazing down.

“I know it seems like I deserted you, but…I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know. It’s Vicious’ fault.” He was like a child, sulking.

“You _are_ miffed at me, aren’t you?”

“It’s been lonely these past three years—”

“Lonely? You have friends, don’t you? What about Faye?”

He squirmed. “Faye? She’s a tramp.”

“Well, that ‘tramp’ saved my life.” His eyes widened at that news. I continued. “And she passed on my message to you. She seems pretty decent to me. And besides that, she loves you.”

Spike grunted. “Faye is in love with me? Did she tell you that?”

I folded my arms across my chest. “No, but a woman can always tell these things.”

“What’re you—trying to play matchmaker for us?”

“No, of course not! I don’t want her stealing you.”

“’Cause you’re my woman, you know that.”

I smiled. “Yes, I know.”

“I don’t sleep with her, if you’re worried about that.”

“Good. I just want you know she’s an okay woman.”

“Ah, she’s getting better, I guess.”

“Wasn’t there a guy on board, too?”

“Yeah. My partner, Jet Black. Big, ugly guy with a mechanical arm. He’s a good friend. Then there was this weird kid and this dog with no tail, but they jumped ship.”

“See—you had plenty of company.”

“Yeah, but no one who would sing me to sleep.”

“You should know—I haven’t been with anyone else, either. I feel like a nun.”

“What about Gren?”

“Gren? You know about Gren?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t you know he’s gay? We were pals!”

“Actually, I did kinda suspect that when I met him. You didn’t hear he died?”

I stared at him. “Gren is dead?” My eyes started to water.

“Hey!” Spike said soothingly, wiping one of my tears away.

“Vicious…?” I blurted between sobs.

“Yeah, he had something to do with it.”

I nodded, and looked for a tissue or cloth to wipe my face with. When my tears had subsided, Spike said, “We really better be going. I wanna head over to Annie’s, then—”

“What are we going there for?” I asked warily.

“I need to pick up a few things,” he answered vaguely. “Then we’ll go to the _Bebop_ , and figure out where to go from there.” Then he clammed up again.

His silence tormented me. Maybe it was just the tension of the dangerous situation we were in, or maybe he was still mad at me. I knew that, in spite of his being in love with me, there was always a small part of him that resented me. Resented me for curtailing his cool sense of pride and invulnerability. He wanted to think he needed no one in life, and that his body belonged to nobody, yet he had given in and given himself to me. Maybe it was pleasurable, yet it still stung him.

He had always been somewhat distant, the whole time I knew him, even with me. No one could completely own him; no one could completely know him. I just came close.

“Spike,” I said, forcing myself, since it was such a sensitive subject. “In case they get us, read this.” With one hand still on the wheel, I slipped him a folded piece of white paper.

His face screwed up in confusion as he quickly read it. “Julia, this is a prayer of repentance!”

“So, don’t act like you don’t believe in the supernatural. After all, you do consult fortune tellers.”

“Yeah, well, I—”

“You do want us to be together forever, right?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, this is our guarantee—that no matter what happens to us in this world, we will be together in the next. Promise me you’ll say the prayer.”

“Okay, okay! I promise!”

“And that you’ll mean it.”

He shrugged. “I’ll try.” He was quiet again for a moment, then asked, “Julia, now that you’ve found religion, what do you want in a loser like me?”

“You’re the love of my life, Spike. I made a promise to myself that you would always be.”


	14. Til Death Do Us Reunite

We were on a rooftop now. Spike was ahead, leading the way. Bullets flew around us. Searing pain—one had hit its mark! I fell. _Jesus, I’m sorry for all the stupid things I’ve done._ It was a prayer, not a curse.

I had forgotten the one main thing Spike had taught me: _Keep your head down…_ I felt amongst my feelings of terror and grief a sense of embarrassment.

I heard him scream my name, and at the moment, he was no longer a hard boiled bounty hunter or a jaded gangster. He was my boyfriend who had accompanied me to parks, concerts, cafes, and a million other fun places so far away from death. But what to say to him? 

Spike ran up to me, but he knew there was nothing he could do. What to tell him, now that he had to face life alone? I looked into his mismatched eyes and could tell he would not make it. “It’s all a dream…” My eyes closed.

“Yeah, just a dream,” he said mechanically.

To my surprise, death felt like a warm embrace. I became aware that I was no longer lying on the roof, but was cradled in someone’s arms. I opened my soul’s eyes and saw a being clothed in white robes, his face too radiant to see clearly. I gasped, then looked down. Growing smaller and smaller was Tharsis. We were ascending.

The angel—that’s what it had to be—did not speak. It deposited me in a grassy field, then continued its ascent alone.

I stood. “Hey, wait! Where am I? This can’t be Heaven, and it doesn’t look like Hell.” I looked at my arm. My body was glowing with the residue of the angel’s glory. I peered over the rim of a small hill. Below, on a flat surface, I could see Spike, as he continued on with his life. It was almost like television.

I watched in fascination as Spike returned to the _Bebop_. He talked with a man I realized was Jet, his partner. He told Jet a story of a tiger-striped cat who had lost its mate, then died. I recognized myself as the white cat. “Oh, Spike, I’ve destroyed you! I didn’t mean to!”

Then Faye confronted Spike. One thing became clear from their heated conversation... “Oh, Faye! You really do love him! Poor girl!” It was the fear I had always had, but now somehow, I felt no jealousy, only pity for poor Faye, who pleaded for Spike not to go to his certain doom. “Spike, listen to her!” I shouted, unheard by the mortals whose lives I observed. “It’s okay—I’m dead now. She’s a good match for you; she’ll take care of you! Don’t kill yourself over a dream!” He walked on, unhearing of either Faye or myself. I felt as useless as Faye—she had given up firing her gun into the ceiling and had sunk to the floor, crying.

Spike always was such a stubborn ass.

I saw him fall at the Red Dragons’ headquarters. I don’t know the exact second he died. Maybe he fell because he was dead, or maybe he died during his fall. Maybe he felt his body hit the staircase, and the impact jarred his soul from his body. Maybe I had to watch him die, because I had been foolish and he had to see me die before his eyes.

I knew I wasn’t in Heaven yet, because I sobbed.

Truly, I had destroyed the man I loved.

I felt a hand on my shoulder; it was warm. I turned to see another angel. This one’s beatific face was clear. “Soon Spike will be here, and the others as well,” the angel said to me. He gestured down at the roads which had just appeared out of the mist. One was narrow, straight, and full of holes and rocks. The other was a wide, paved avenue. “Each of you must choose one these roads. I will tell you now, the straight and narrow path is the right one. But you must tell nobody that, not even Spike. Just show them the roads and let them decide for themselves.”

And then the angel faded from sight.

And so I waited for the time Spike and I would be together again. This time, we would not be long apart. And then we would be together, this time forever.


End file.
